Green Girl (30 page)

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Authors: Sara Seale

BOOK: Green Girl
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Although he was talking to her like a child, she thought that this time it was more as a cover-up for himself.


You wouldn

t sell Clooney, would you?

she asked.

The place must be a terrible drain on you.


It

s entailed, so I can

t, even if I wanted to. We

ll just have to carry on as before until the place falls down about our ears. Does the thought of a poverty-stricken future in a decaying castle daunt you, Harriet?

He had propped an arm along the back of the seat behind her and she rested her head against his sleeve, feeling the roughness of the tweed against her neck. It was not, she thought, the prospect of poverty and decay which daunted her, but the complexities of a relationship with this stranger to whom she had committed her life, who had stolen her heart with such little use for it, whose own heart, if he had one, was still concerned with a maturer and more experienced passion. She was dumb with the agonising dumbness of youth and first love which feared ridicule as much as rejection, for how could you make a man who kept you at arms

, length like an importunate child understand that being allowed to love would be sufficient reward without the expectation of return?


What a long, ominous silence, and what a big sigh! It would seem my question

s stirred up doubts and possibly vain regrets. Perhaps it was better unasked,

he said, and although he spoke lightly enough, she thought there was disappointment in his voice.


I wasn

t thinking of that side of it. You wouldn

t understand,

she said, trying to speak as lightly as he, but the old invisible shutter seemed to come down between them as if, she thought, he had some mysterious power of pres
sing
a switch at will as he answered:


On the contrary, I understand very well. We

d better go in to lunch.

As he leaned across her to open the car door, his cuff caught on her brooch and he stooped to examine it.


Where did you get this?

he asked.

It

s rather a
shoddy
piece of costume jewellery.


I brought it with me,

she said.

One of the maids at Ogilvy

s gave it to me. It was all I
had to wear.

He gave her rather a sceptical look.


You had your pearls,

he said with a certain dryness.

But perhaps you prefer the skivvy

s offering.

She felt herself colouring.


Of
course
not!”
she exclaimed, ready to cry that her unexplained reluctance to wear the pearls should have hurt him.

I—I just was afraid of losing them, I suppose,

she finished lamely, and he pushed the door open for her to get out.

Rory returned in high spirits that evening to regale them amusingly with snippets of gossip gleaned from the party which had gone on until all hours. Harriet had been voted a well-mannered girl with simple charm, but much too young to know how to deal with a difficult husband, and Samantha had been rude to Judy for refusing to accept a booking from her and been told off by Raff in no uncertain terms.


It was quite a thing to see her pulling out all the seduction stops for Raff only to be slapped down very politely and practically called a trollop,

Rory laughed.

She swep
t
out breathing fire and threatening to blacklist the hotel with all her friends in Dublin, and then we all settled down to a very late lunch and pulled all the guests to pieces with pleasurable spite. What, incidentally, had
you
been saying to the fair Samantha, Princess?


I told her a few home truths too, but I don

t suppose they cut much ice. I think I was flushed with wine,

Harriet said.


Flushed with wine—what an enchanting thought! Was she, Duff?


Very decorously flushed, I would say,

said Duff with a twinkle at Harriet.

She appears to have threatened to black the lady

s eye and pull out her hair.


But what else did you say to Samantha, Harriet, that gave her to think?

asked Rory.

Because think she undoubtedly did. She told me you were rude but were evidently seeing the light, whatever that meant, and she

s coming to see you before she goes back to Dublin, so she says.

Harriet was finding it a little difficult to remember exactly what she had said to Samantha, apart from those rather adolescent bursts of spleen, but before she could answer, Duff looked across at her and said with a complete change of voice:


If she does come, I don

t wish you to see her, Harriet. Understand?


Why?

asked Harriet, blankly.


Because I say so. You don

t, as is evident from today

s little bit of mud-slinging, get on together, so it

s better you remain apart.

And he rose to his feet and walked out of the room.


Oh, dear!

murmured Harriet.

I had so hoped that everything was all right again. What have I done now?


Nothing, I imagine, but being a little too blunt with Samantha,

Rory said. He had noted with interest his cousin

s uncompromising reaction, and his eyes now resting on Harriet were a little quizzical.


So for that reason I

m out of favour again?

she said with uncharacteristic bitterness.


You

re growing up fast, aren

t you, Princess, more

s the pity?

he said.

Well, I won

t bother you any longer. I

ll be shaking the
d
ust of Clooney off my shoes shortly, I think.


Oh, why, Rory? Are you bored here?

she asked.


Not bored, but I get itchy feet after a period of the out-of-work actor

s polite definition of resting,

he said evasively.

I must do a round of the agents and find me a job of work.


But you

ll come back?


Of course I

ll come back. I

ve made Clooney my headquarters ever since I started out on the boards.


Dear Rory! You don

t take a livelihood very seriously, do you?


Dear Harriet, I try not to take anything very seriously, that

s why I think it

s time to go.

She sat on the floor beside her dog, twisting the hair on his shaggy head into aimless little spikes, and looked up at Rory with wide, enquiring eyes.


Meaning?

she said.


Meaning, my incorrigible innocent, if you must have your i

s dotted and your t

s crossed, that I find myself in danger of getting a little too fond of you, so it

s better to take off before any more damage is done,

he said.

You

ve been a sore temptation to me, Harriet.


Have I?


Yes, you have. Well, perhaps I

ve served my purpose in arousing a fine spark of jealousy in your too-forebearing husband

s heart.


Jealous—Duff?

He sighed, with a shade of impatience.


For heaven

s sake! Surely even you can tell the signs!

he exclaimed, and she looked quickly down at the dog, ruffling the hair back into place.


Pride can be stung to anger—jealousy of a kind, perhaps —but if it was anything else, you

d think—you

d
think
that if one offered—

she had not meant to confide that last humiliation, but the thought that Rory might so soon be gone betrayed her into weakness. His eyes were amused, however, rather than compassionate as he replied:


So you made your timid little overtures of submission to turn away wrath—last night, one presumes—and think yourself rejected because you have a husband who wants something more than the cold comfort of gratitude to charity.

Harriet looked up, shaking the hair out of her eyes impatiently.


That

s what he said—gratitude

s a lean substitute for love—but he

s never wanted love.


Who

s to know what anyone means by that? Love has so many forms—so many disguises if it comes to that. I don

t pretend to understand my self-contained cousin because he

s never
-
allowed that I

m mature enough to discuss such things as matter to him, but I

m beginning to suspect the poor devil

s a romantic at heart—one of these out-of-date chivalrous characters who bide their time too long for a worn-out principle and get beaten at the post in the end by a more enterprising nag. That

s what stirred up his bitterness yesterday—not the dog-in-the-manger pride you attributed to him.

She listened attentively, to
rn
between a desire to believe what she wanted and the salutary reminder that she too easily wove fantasies for herself without foundation.


And Samantha?

she said at last.

Where does she come in?


Where she belongs. A high-class floozie of his bachelor days who came back to make trouble. Sam

s always wanted what she couldn

t get, and if she can

t get it she just goes destructive for spite.


Men like to keep their wives and mistresses apart. You heard him say he doesn

t want me to see her again.


And that should show you, you silly coot. She

s had the run of the place up till now, hasn

t she?


Yes, but I think he

s reached some sort of decision. He

s meeting her in Dublin.


So what? Oh, for God

s sake, Harriet, let

s drop the whole subject! Sometimes I think you make surmises and difficulties where none exist, at others I simply shrug my shoulders and say you

re both getting what you deserve from such a cockeyed bargain. Now, for the love of Mike, let

s talk about something else! You

re getting my dim powers of reasoning in as bad a state as your own!

There
was a slight fall of snow during the night, whic
h
moved
Duff
to say:


You

ll be careful while I

m gone, won

t you, Harriet? Don

t go falling into bogs or anything rash.


Are you going soon, then?


The day after tomorrow. Rory

s coming with me.


Oh!

She had a cold feeling of desertion, envisaging the Castle with only Nonie and her own discouraging thoughts to keep her company, and watching those betraying freckles beginning to powder her skin as she lost colour, he said a little roughly:


Is it Rory you

re going to miss?

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